


The Birthday Dinner

by abigail89



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Epic Bromance, Gen, M/M, trying not to be a jerk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 21:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1526246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigail89/pseuds/abigail89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's John's birthday, but he just doesn't do birthday. But Dorian does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Birthday Dinner

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the ahfancon gift exchange on tumblr under my tumblr name tigerarchivist. This is for volatilehearts.

All things considered, it isn't that John doesn't enjoy his birthday; it's more like he just doesn't celebrate the day or the event. He'd had no control over the fact of his birth--it simply _is_ \-- he was born on this day. Thank you, goodbye. No reason to make fuss over it or give gifts or go out to dinner, since he usually does that anyway. And cake? Not really a cake person. Definitely not a _balloon and party hats_ person at all.

He clocks out in the squad room and gathers up his stuff. He should've been gone over two hours ago, but there was a mound of paperwork, three prisoner transfer orders to process, and Captain Maldonado wanted to pick his brain about an upcoming raid on a drug lord compound. Which then turned into a quiet drink in his honor. "Happy birthday, John," she had said. "I'm really glad you're here for me to tell you that."

It had been an entirely sincere moment. Captain Maldonado--Sandra--was good people. She's tough, fair, just, and passionate about the safety of her officers. When he'd emerged from the coma after all those months, the nurses had told him she'd been there; she asked for daily updates and came by often, just to check in on him. And when he was going through rehab, learning to talk, sit up, eat, dress, _live_ again, she'd been there, quietly encouraging, gently pushing him. He knows damned well that it is because of her he's still on the force. 

He drives home, to his condo on the lake. It had been something of a splurge to purchase the condo. But the life insurance money that he didn't know his mother had when she'd died had provided the lion's share of the mortgage. She'd always complained about the cramped, dingy places he'd lived in before, so he figured it was a suitable memorial to her that he buy something filled with light and space. Pulling into the driveway, he steps out of the car to see the last of the sun filtering through the trees, turning the sky to orange and magenta. "Happy birthday to me," he mutters.

He opens the door and finds his home lit up, soft jazz playing on the sound system and someone humming in his kitchen. John drops his bag and pulls out his weapon. He quickly moves through the hallway to the open living room and skirts up against the wall to the kitchen. The voice, that voice--it's familiar.

"Oh, hey, John." Dorian's smiling face comes around the corner. "Happy birthday! I'd give you a hug but I know you don't really appreciate that sort of thing."

John exhales. "Fuck, Dorian. Do you know how close I came to blowing your head off?"

"Very. But I knew you wouldn't."

He holsters the gun and then, curiosity takes over. "Okay, so what the hell are you doing here? How did you get in?"

Dorian stands in front of the stove. "As to how, you are ridiculously easy to figure out. All your passwords are the same and I can imitate your voice precisely. Getting in was not even a challenge."

_Great. Change the goddamn password._ "As for why, well, that's even easier. It's your birthday and since I know you won't celebrate it, I thought I would just make you."

"Make me?"

"John," Dorian says, as he wipes his hand with a paper towel, "this is your first birthday after you've rejoined the force. Re-entered life. I heard Captain Maldonado talking to Lieutenant Stahl about it. It's something that you need to celebrate."

John sighs. "Yeah, but here's the thing, I don't do birthdays." He knew Dorians would want to know why, and that's the question, isn't it? "I haven't since my parents died, and frankly, my birthday reminds me they aren't here anymore."

It is, perhaps, an admission he'd never intended to make. He doesn't think about the fact that he's an orphan, even though they'd died well after he'd become an adult. It's been years, but he still gets a pang thinking about them.

"I'm sorry for your loss. Truly," Dorian says gently. "Even my not having the experience of having parents, I know it is devastating."

"Yeah, thanks." John leans against the doorjamb, feeling a little awkward for baring so much of his soul. "So, what's for dinner?"

That makes Dorian smile. "Well, once the cake comes out of the oven, I thought I'd broil you a steak. I've heard you say you enjoy a good steak now and again. I did some research and found that it is appropriate to have a baked potato and a salad with it."

"You made me a cake?"

"I did. Rudy often bakes things. This is his favorite recipe."

It's not the weirdest thing he's ever heard--an android using a cake recipe from an artificial intelligence engineer--but it ranks up there. _Brave new world and all of that..._ "I'm impressed."

"With what?"

"That Rudy even knows what a cake recipe looks like."

The timer goes off. Dorian opens the oven door and the aroma of carrot cake floods the small kitchen. "Does it smell good?" Dorian asks as he pulls the pan out. "It smells like it should to me, based on Rudy's."

"It smells divine," John says honestly.

Dorian beams. "While it cools, I'll start the steak. Would you like a beer?" He indicates the refrigerator. "I noticed you have several. Please, go sit on the deck and enjoy the last of the evening."

John gets a beer and twists the cap off. "Nah, I think I'll just stay here. It would be rude of me to leave you to it."

"That's never stopped you before," Dorian replies.

John snorts. "Never had my partner cook me dinner before either."

"Perhaps I should do this more often. It seems to have mellowed you out."

"Don't get used to it. It's just not right to insult the cook."

"I'll have to remember that." Dorian slides the steak into the broiler. "Rudy says a steak is better if it's cooked on an actual grill, but you don't seem to have one. So I took the liberty of ordering one for you."

John nearly spits out his beer. "You did what?"

"Ordered you a grill," Dorian replies with a big cheesy smile. "I wanted to give you a gift."

_This is getting out of hand._ "Dude, you did not have to do that. In fact, just un-order the grill. I eat out almost all the time; I'd never use it. And I'm not one to give parties."

"Yes, but one day, you might."

"When that momentous day arrives," John says, exasperated, "I'll get one. But until then, don't."

He leaves the kitchen, walks through the living room to the back door. Twilight has set in, and with it, the lights from the other homes have blinked on. Standing on the deck, he hears the calls of the whippoorwills, the slapping of water against wood, music from one of the other houses. He realizes he doesn't know any of his neighbors, even though he's lived here for several years. Maybe he does need to get out more. Socialize. Be a neighbor. Have people over...

"Nah," he says. "That's taking it too far." 

But he can start somewhere. Start small. Like, enjoying the dinner his _partner_ has prepared. 

Yeah, and allow Dorian to help celebrate his birthday.


End file.
